ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1995, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, December 18, 1995 TAG: 9512180043
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-9 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: Monty S. Leitch
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
HE SAYS, ``There's never a pencil here by the phone when I need one. Where do they all go?''
She calls down from upstairs, ``Look in the kitchen drawer.''
So he does. He rummages through the shot rubber bands, the books of matches, the birthday candles, safety pins, AAA batteries, used wine corks, ham-can keys, crumpled twist-ties, armless Power Ranger Action Figures, stray screws, buttons, scraps of string and odd-sized paper clips.
"Not here,'' he calls back.
"Then I don't know,'' she says. ``You'll have to find it yourself.''
But instead of looking elsewhere, he stands rummaging through the drawer. For already he's discovered a half-dozen perfectly good sinker nails scattered in with the junk. He puts them in his pocket, where they jingle like little bells.
Later, when she comes downstairs, too, she asks, "Who was that on the phone?''
"When?'' he replies. He's still collecting unexpectedly useful objects from the cache in the kitchen drawer.
"Just a few minutes ago,'' she says. ``You wanted a pencil for something. What in the world are you doing?''
He slams shut the drawer. ``Getting ready for work,'' he says. Then he stomps away. His pockets ring merrily.
Later in the day, she laments to a friend, ``This time of year I can't seem to find even five minutes for myself.''
"I know what you mean,'' her friend replies. ``Where does all the time go?''
They are having a cup of coffee in the mall, along with a very thin slice of cheesecake they've allowed themselves to split. They're resting their feet, reviving themselves, before going on with their mission.
"Do you know what I found him doing this morning?'' she asks. ``Going through the junk drawer. Ten minutes before he had to leave for work, and he's standing in the kitchen, sorting junk.''
"Men,'' her friend replies. But it's her turn for a bite of their cheesecake, so she pauses before going on. ``Still, I'd give anything to find one for myself.''
"What about that guy from the office? The one with the cute ties? You said he wasn't so bad.''
"Oh, please,'' her friend replies. ``At least let me find an adult.''
She grins. ``Someone, perhaps, who'll holler at you from the kitchen whenever he needs a pencil?''
They giggle together. At the next table over, a mother is saying to her child, ``Oh, Jen, you didn't lose another one, did you? How many gloves must I get you?''
The little girl shrugs.
"Well, let's go look for it, then,'' the laden mother sighs. ``It has to be here somewhere.''
Later that day, when he comes home from work, he gleefully announces, ``Look what I found!''
She turns from her place at the sink. ``Not another fruit cake,'' she says.
"Not just any fruitcake,'' he cries. ``The exact same kind of fruitcake we used to have every year when I was a kid.''
"Some of those very fruitcakes probably still exist,'' she says. ``In a hundred years, an archaeologist digging through the landfill will find them all. Hard as rocks, but still considered edible.''
"I like fruitcakes,'' he pouts.
"Then you find a place for it in the 'fridge,'' she says. ``I've already shopped for the family dinner and there just isn't much room left.''
"There's always room for something important,'' he mutters. But he has to finish off a couple of cartons of leftover Chinese to find it.
After supper, she puts in a load of laundry. In the pockets of his best pair of pants she finds a chewed-up pencil, the cap from a ballpoint pen, a half-dozen sinker nails and the sales slip from the fruitcake. ``Ten dollars!'' She shakes her head. ``No wonder he can't ever find what he wants,'' she murmurs. ``Even right under his nose.''
The nails tinkle in her hand. She sighs, sings softly, ``Jingle bells, jingle bells.'' Then she opens the kitchen drawer.
"Oh, there it is!'' she says with surprise when she sees the missing button from her good wool coat. Not a month ago, she'd turned the house upside down, searching. Muttering to herself, ``I know it's here somewhere. I just know it is.''
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times columnist.
LENGTH: Medium: 87 linesby CNB